A Letter to My Son
by ThymeWaster
Summary: Just a short oneshot about Thyme's origins. One of a few oneshots about Logan's growing upness. Please read Titan's Child first! Rated for mentions of iffy subjects


This is a re-upload of this story, I had some accidental info that needed to be cut out. Sorry about that.

This is just a little blurb about Thyme and her history. Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

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"A Letter To My Son"

It was a large shoebox, probably from a pair of boots that his mother had bought a long time ago. It was white, rectangular, and the lid was attached along one of the longer edges. This box rested on the top shelf of the tiny closet in his apartment bedroom.

"When you are tall enough to reach that box on your own" she would tell him "you can see what's in it." That was always her answer, every time he asked if he could see it. He always felt that it was just out of reach, or he was just too short, but today, he was eighteen, and he remembered the box.

As he had grown, he had forgotten the box on the shelf. It had seemed meaningless, and as a young pre-teen he had thought that it was childish to wonder what was in an old shoebox. But today he was packing up for his trip to Gotham City. He was going to stay with a wealthy relative, and hopefully he would end up attending the university there.

He pulled the box down from the shelf and set it on his bed. It was lighter than he had expected, and he was surprised to see its contents.

Inside was a metallic bracelet, about two inches wide, with intricate carvings around it in symbols that he didn't recognize. He knew it instantly as the bracelet in his parent's stories about how he was born. Next to that was a bow, too small for him now, but he remembered playing with it as a kid. It was almost as fun as shooting starbolts at the cat.

There were other keepsakes from his childhood that he had passed on long ago, but what interested him most was an envelop at the bottom of the old shoebox.

He sat down on the bed and cracked it open to reveal several pages of double sided letter. He opened it and began to read.

_Dear Logan, _

_By now you have grown much, hopefully into an intelligent, handsome, and kind young man. As I write this, you are napping in the next room, and I can't help but dream about what you will become someday. You are special, and unique in many ways, and I didn't think I could love anyone as much as I love you. _

_If you are as smart as I hope you will be, you will probably know by now that the way you came into my life was not normal in any sense of the word. I want you to know that I regret nothing about you, your existence or your person. I love you and I will never stop loving you. _

_You are unique in many ways, and I don't say that because every child is different. I say that because you are truly one of a kind. You have three loving and dedicated fathers, and three powerful and strong mothers. _

_My years growing up were not as fortunate as yours have been. I write this to you now because I want you to understand your family and where you came from, and though the others have told you the stories of they're pasts, I have never told you of mine. _

_I was born the daughter of Father Time and Mother Nature. They died not long afterwards. It is the point of their existence to regulate those two elements of life. When they died, I received their powers, and now I have the abilities to control time and nature. If and when I die, you will, in turn, receive these powers for yourself. _

_Their death was a tragic experience, because it led to a lifetime of heartache. I was taken in by a man who called himself Slade; he is your true father, as you probably know by now. _

_He raised me as a young girl, and I think I cared deeply for him, but when I was ten he sent me to Gotham and erased my memory. I don't know much of what happened to me before being in Gotham, though I am almost positive that it was a strange upbringing. Everything about us is strange. _

_In Gotham, I was placed in foster care. I went from one family to another, usually spending no more than a month in one place. Once they discovered my powers, they were afraid of me, or they were angry. But there was one ray of hope in an otherwise dreary upbringing. _

_The last home I lived in was amazing. I came to know them as my true family, and they loved me like a daughter. George, my foster-father, was like us; different, special. He was telekinetic (By now you know what that means.), and his family had been able to fly since his great-grandfather invented wings. _

_I was their second child, the first being their biological son, James. James was a wonderful young man; it was devastating to that family when he was killed in a car accident. George was never the same, and when I turned thirteen, he gave me the wings that had been passed down to each son in his family since their invention. He spent the next two years training me to fly, and when I finally left, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. _

_I flew, and I went anywhere I could. I traveled across America, seeing anything I wanted to, and going wherever I pleased. I starved most of the time, but it was worth it. The things I saw and the people I met were amazing. I wish I could take you to see the people; some of them would have loved you. _

_By the time I reached Jump City, it had been a year. I was sixteen and as I flew over the city, something shot me down. I fell so hard, and I am amazed that I survived, but I did. The story continues, but I will leave it there for now. I am sure that by the time you are reading this, someone of your parents has told you what happens next. _

_I write this letter now, because I don't want to forget. I am afraid that with all the awful things that have happened, I will forget the good; the good people and the good times. If I forget, then the only thing left will be this letter to you, my son. _

_I love you with all that I have to give, and I want you to understand that. I want you to know who you are, because no one can know where they are going without knowing where they came from…_

_Love, _

_Mom_

He looked at the letter in his hands and smiled lightly. He had known that his mother was a teenage mom since he was thirteen. He had known that she had been raped, and used as part of an evil plot, and that, to save him, the Teen Titans (Now simply, the Titans) had donated their DNA and made him their son. But he had never known exactly where she had come from, and why she was there in the first place.

"Logan! It's time to go! Cyborg is waiting in the car, and he is getting impatient!" He heard his mother call from the apartment door. He stood slowly, placing the letter gently back into the shoebox. He placed it on top of the last pile of boxes to be carried out, and tucked his purple-black hair behind his pointy ears.

"Coming mom!" He called back, picking up the boxes in one arm and floating softly out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

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